Untouched
by et-spiritus-sancti
Summary: The night Draco is conceived is as loveless and passionless as his father. Oneshot.


Untouched

By et-spiritus-sancti

The night Draco is conceived is a love-less and passionless as the father who bred him.

A/N: Just a little one-shot that's kept me up later than usual despite the early morning that awaits me...hope anyone who reads enjoys!

sancti

OOO

Lucius Malfoy was not a patient man. Nor was he gentle, warm and fuzzy, romantic, or any other stereotypes given to husbands. He did not bring his wife roses. He didn't cook happily and sing opera while doing so. And he most certainly did not volunteer for the better of society. In fact, he loved money and acquired much of it. He loved women, and ever the more exciting they were if they were _not_ his wife. He couldn't stand his wife. Unfaithful wench—and Malfoy was no hypocrite. He may have cheated on her before she did, but _she_ didn't know that. He was rather pleased with it staying that way.

And so after a night of love-less passion, the rest was conducted as a business. Narcissa moved away from him, to the farthest edge of the bed she could reach without falling to the floor. She hugged the silk blankets to her pale form, her part of the deal complete. Lucius said nothing, showered, came back to the bed and slept. He felt nothing for Narcissa except that she was his property, his prize. He could care less if she mingled with other men, long as she didn't become pregnant with their bastard. He gave her this freedom, he couldn't understand why she wanted to deny him one of his only pleasures.

He woke up once in the night, blue eyes peeking through his lids like bright beacons against the moonlight that swept into the bedroom. Narcissa was awake, her breathing was uneven. She hiccuped. She was crying. Three years ago, Lucius may have moved to comfort her, albeit awkwardly. He'd never been a sentimental men and didn't know the first thing about comforting others. None was ever shown to him growing up. The sheets had fallen away to expose that stark whiteback of hers and he watched it quiver. Creamy and inviting. Her spine was so perfectly shaped between her shoulder blades. Lucius found it fascinating and wondered why he wasn't attracted to her anymore.

Narcissa gasped for a breath again. She was trying desperately to hold it in, lest she wake him up, which she already did. Why would she be crying? He hadn't hurt her, he was sure of it. He found it didn't please him to release his stress and tension on her. Hedecided it cowardly to hit a woman who could do nothing to defend themselves.

Lucius tried to ignore it and closed his eyes, willing sleep to claim him again. Her next sob racked her form and a tremor rippled across the matress. Frustrated, Lucius sighed heavily.

"Blood hell, woman, what is _wrong_?"

He'd startled her badly. She must have had her fist in her mouth because her shriek was stifled but it was obvious he'd frightened her. Meekly, she turned onto her back, modestly grabbing the sheets with her to cover herself. As if Malfoy cared. He'd seen enough chests in his life to know once you've seen one, you've seen them all. But Narcissa was a modest woman in nature. He couldn't help but admire that.

"I'm sorry I woke you." She whispered, her voice shaky.

"Answer my question."

The tears were clear in her eyes and the blue orbs shimmered. She looked so fragile, so delicate. He had a strange impulse to touch her, but something told him no. No, she would break. Nothing told him that earlier in the night. Why did he feel it now?

"It's silly," the next sob that escaped her suggested anything but silly, "it's nothing." And Lucius highly doubted it was nothing.

"I'm your husband, tell me what's wrong." She stared at him, perplexed. If Lucius could stare at himself, he'd wear the same expression. Since when did he care what she blubblered about?

"I—I doubt you'd want to hear it."

/Her collarbone. I love how it protrudes just enough. Just enough for me to give it attention before melting into her skin./

Lucius suddenly felt like beating his head against the wall. Had something invaded his brain? He didn't care about her. She was only his prize. She'd give him an heir. He despised her weak constitution. Yet he heard himself say, "I want to know. Perhaps I can fix it."

Her jaw was hanging somewhat now. The tears had stopped. She was shocked by his...concern? No, certainly not. It was just curiosity.

"W—well, then. I—I was crying because...because..."

Lucius couldn't believe how the anticipation was eating away at him. He had to know. He had to know why she would cry.

"Yes, _because_..." Anger tinged his voice. He was getting impatient. Good. That was a sign his normal self was reemerging.

"Because you don't touch me."

It wasn't the answer he was expecting. He thought maybe she'd snivel on about how bored she is, how he doesn't give her access to their bank account for fear of her draining it. But because he "doesn't touch her?"

"What are you talking about," Lucius snapped, "What do you call what happened three hours ago?"

She shook her head emphatically, but only in despair. She'd known he wouldn't understand. "You said based on your business situation, it was time I produced an heir," she released another sob, "you had sex with me, Lucius. You didn't make love to me."

Lucius propped himself up on one elbow. He had to have some supremacy in this conversation, even if it was as simple as being slightly taller than her. "You've gone off your rocker, woman. What the bloody hell is the difference?"

She was starting to sweat. She was nervous. Thin, blond tendrils of hair clung to her neck. He wanted that neck. He pushed the urge away.

"It was nothing like our wedding night," she whispered, her eyes looking past him at something only she could see, "you'd lit candles. You were gentle. You knew I was unbroken. Untouched."

"I didn't want you to break my eardrum screaming in pain." Lucius muttered.

She shot him a glare worth a thousand words. "You were different, Lucius. Tonight was despicable. You don't touch me for over a year, so I expect all this pent-up passion. It was _nothing_! Over in ten minutes, that's _disgraceful_!"

Lucius was tired of his conversation. He didn't need to hear his wife tell him he was horrible in bed. Bloody twit, what did she know? Lucius came off his elbow, turning away from her.

"Don't you turn your back on me, Lucius Malfoy."

Never in the time he'd known Narcissa had he _ever_ heard the tone she just used. It was dangerous, gritty, and low. It suggested much worse things to come if he didn't obey. Almost instinctively, he turned back to face her. Her pretty features were now contorted in anger. It struck something in his cold, black heart. Something in that dark, stone of an organ stirred. And he couldn't find the will to tell her off for talking to him in such a way.

Her visage softened. "You don't love me anymore." And in an instant, her voice had changed back to the delicate song that caressed her throat every time she spoke.

"That's no secret, darling," Lucius said flatly, "you don't love me either."

She didn't deny that. "What happened?"

Lucius grunted. Hell if he knew. The "love" if one could even call it that, lasted for perhaps a year after the marriage, if that much. It turned into simple lust for a warm body and eventually dissipated into...nothing. They hadn't shared a post-carnal cuddle in it seemed ages. A good-morning-kiss upon waking...nonexistent. Footsie at the dinner table...he'd kick her in the shin if she tried such a thing. The "spark" was lost.

Completely.

"No more spark," Lucius whispered more to himself. In fact he was slightly startled when he realized she'd heard him.

"You're right. Could we ever get it back?" She asked innocently. Lucius locked gazes with her. The hope in her eyes nearly broke the stone that was his heart. They both knew there would be no rekindling of their passion. Their love was such a delicate thing and no amount of magic could bring it back. It had always been balanced precariously on a edge, and if it fell, it would tumble into a abysmal pit, never to be reclaimed. It had fallen long ago. Even the presence of a child wouldn't help. Lucius was only interested in raising the heir (a male if he had to find the most illegal of spells to yield one) and making certain he would follow his footsteps. Beyond presenting him with a son, Lucius truly could care less what Narcissa did. And she knew it.

"No, I don't believe we could." Lucius said this in the gentlest way he could. Why he felt he needed to he'd never know.

The answer didn't appear to surprise his wife. Good. He didn't want to have to comfort her again. But then he saw her bite that damnable tantalizing lip of hers to stifle more tears. That's when something occurred to himand he actually felt warm embarrassment form in his stomach. Then it promptly felt like being punched in the nose.Tonight, when he'd...taken care of business, not once did he kiss her. That's what she had meant before..."you don't touch me." He heard that weak murmur over and over in his head. Frankly, he'd treated her like an animal that needed to be bred in order for a strong youngling to be produced. He was ashamed. But he was Lucius Malfoy. He _never_ felt ashamed.

She was trying so hard to bite back her tears. Malfoy watched her, fascinated and appalled. She was right. He didn't make love to her. Not even close.

Lucius had to move for a few seconds to get close to her, as she'd made so much room between them. In that time, she watched him fearfully. She was expecting a punishment. But didn't she remember? He didn't hit women. Instead, he brushed her feather-soft hair from her neck so he could place his cold hand there, his thumb caressing that spot under her ear. Her widened eyes relaxed some, now she was simply confused.

Lucius leaned in, hesitant at first. He hadn't done this to her in over a year. But one look at those lips and all hesitation melted away. He gently placed his lips upon hers, immediately noticing the wet tears that had only started to dry there. He waited for her reaction. She did nothing, so he molded his lips to hers, gently prying them apart to allow him entry. She whimpered, but complied and he explored. This felt familiar. This felt...right somehow. She eventually responded, keeping with the rhythm of his mouth against hers. The heat grew in his stomach, but he ignored it. His attention was solely on her mouth, nothing else. And then the cold hand grasped his heart again. Lucius stopped the rhythm and released her mouth, gently nibbling her bottom lip. He opened his eyes to look in hers. She stared at him knowingly. Never again would he do this with her. It was a gift from him. To be used only once and treasured forever.

Lucius looked away, removing his hand from her neck, his skin seeming to instantly cool. He moved away from her, turning to face the wall. She didn't cry. He could hear her turn away as well. They were again strangers in the same bed. Strangers bonded for life.

End

OOO

Junk? Tell me if it is.


End file.
